


Impressing Professor Potter

by The_Fictionist



Series: AU Twists [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Professor Harry Potter, Teacher AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:40:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist/pseuds/The_Fictionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is DADA Professor, and the only one Tom Riddle wants to impress. Such a pity that the man is oblivious to such things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressing Professor Potter

Tom Riddle didn’t like the saying “those who can - do, those who can’t - teach”. 

He thought that, with a talented enough professor, teaching was doing and making, it was making an entire generation of wizards in whichever shape you liked, it was the ability to influence enough minds to form a small army.

 

It definitely wasn’t a ‘can’t’.

 

Or maybe that was just Professor Potter.

 

 

 

He was new to the staff this year, and looked more like a Seventh Year than a Professor, perhaps due to his diminutive stature and youthful features, even though he was more around the age of twenty five. Or so rumour said.

 

Most of the student body were swooning over him in someway or other; over his green eyes, or his supposed prowess with a broomstick (in both senses that could be taken), or even his ever so kind manner and bright smile.

 

Tom never liked to think of himself as someone who went along with the herd, but, in the case, it seemed even the herd mind had picked up on something special. Of course, he didn’t much care about something so superficial as the colour of his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s eyes, or how apparently kissable his lips were, but…

 

He did hunger for the knowledge and memories that seemed too old and dark for such a young face, for the shadow in Professor Potter’s eyes, and, most predominantly, for the power in Harry’s movements when he taught them how to duel.

 

Most teachers were, at least one hoped and was too often disappointed, proficient in their subject of lecture, but Professor Potter was on another level entirely. He seemed to duel and cast magic as easy as breathing, at least in his field of defensive and even offensive magic.

 

It was exquisite to watch.

 

The only irritating part was that the man was completely and utterly oblivious.

 

He flushed and deflected compliments in class, mumbled he had help in his admirable accomplishments, and either he was a really good actor or he honestly thought Walburga Black really did want some help with her Defence essay. All evidence pointed to the latter, at least by the embarrassed sulk the seventh year Lady Black had shrunk into in days of late.

 

He didn’t normally care much for impressing people. Maybe that was why he was so fervent to impress Professor Potter - because he didn’t seem impressed enough! Most of the students and professors, barring Dumbledore, fawned over his ability and talent with magic! Professor Potter treated him just like everyone else, not unimpressed, but not suitably impressed either.

 

It was infuriating!  
  
Oh, it wasn’t done out of spite or unkindness, and the man never neglected to praise him for a job well done - the thing was, he gave equal praise to the small, insignificant magic managed by the worst, weakest and most pathetic specimens in his class too as if their meagre accomplishments were in anyway on the level of his own.

 

He was leaps and bounds ahead of everyone else, but did that stun the Professor in delight over his prowess? No it did not.

 

It only made him more determined to prove himself, to possess the Professor’s attention, or anything else that the man wanted.

 

Slughorn was useful, of course, but he was already infatuated with him so why couldn’t he have Potter’s favour and obsession too?

 

He wanted it, and he wanted Professor Potter, and he had a policy to always get what he wanted. That, and he rather liked being envied and having what everyone else wanted too.

 

Their dear new Professor had finally been successfully bullied into attending the latest Slug Club party. Apparently he would make quite a shiny trinket for Slughorn’s cabinets too, but Tom was resolved to snatch him up first.

 

He was a perfectionist, he could admit that, and Professor Potter’s approval was a matter of his personal flawless record of approval at Hogwarts.

  
Barring Dumbledore, as aforementioned, but the old man had always been suspicious of him and didn’t count.

 

He was dressed as smartly as ever, hair not brushed because he didn’t want to seem eager - besides, he knew he looked good like this, and the eyes that swept over him as he stepped into the room just proved that.

 

Professor Potter glanced over only to see who had entered.

The man looked completely uncomfortable, like he wanted to melt into a corner somewhere, or even better through the wall or the floor and out of there, as a wall was a place that allowed him to get too easily cornered by his adoring students.

 

Slughorn had eagerly engaged him in conversation, and Tom smiled.

Because Professor Potter would bolt before this ‘little-get-together’ was over. He could see it in the other’s eyes, and the almost imperceptible stiffness in his shoulders, in the way his fingers clenched around his flute of champagne.

 

Slughorn always did love a good time.   
  
He bided his time, not instantly making his way over, consolidating his connections and empire, drawing tidbits of information here and there with a charming smile pasted gracefully on his lips.

 

Was he looking at him? No. No he wasn’t.

His lips didn’t pinch, his self control was far too impeccable for that.

 

Finally, they ‘bumped’ into each other at the drinks table, whilst the Professor was starting to look like he was at the end of his frayed tether.

 

“Escaped, did you?” Tom purred, eyes gleaming with amusement. Professor Potter glanced at him, startled, before grinning.

  
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that.”   
  
“Of course not, sir,” Tom allowed, smirking back gently. “That would be unprofessional.”  
The other huffed a small laugh, and he felt smug that he’d managed to coax it out.

 

“Indeed,” Potter murmured. “I don’t normally attend these functions.”  
  
“I did notice that you looked uncomfortable.”  
He stepped a little closer, reaching over to get some more punch, before raising a brow to question if the professor wanted any. Harry immediately held out his cup.   
  
“It was that obvious?”

  
“It was to me.”

 

“Well, don’t use it against me. I like a party as much as anyone, but I was - am -  a Gryffindor, and this is all very…” Harry stopped for the sake of propriety, taking a deep sip of the punch.

 

“Political. Slytherin?”  
  
“You said it not me,” Harry said, though by that it was clear he certainly didn’t agree. He let his hand graze over the Professor’s wrist with an expert subtlety as he drew back, taking a sip of his own drink. Harry didn’t so much as notice.

 

Slughorn did, and looked incredibly jealous.  
It wasn’t enough.

 

Honestly, no wonder the moron didn’t have a girlfriend - hell, if someone stripped in front of him, he’d probably offer them his bloody cardigan or robe and ask them if they were cold!

 

Had he mentioned how much the cardigan’s infuriated him? Professor Potter was an incredibly powerful wizard, not a cuddly harmless student-teacher with a side bag and a bloody cardigan.   
It was even worse when he fully suspected his professor was armed to the teeth.

 

He’d caught sight of the wand holster under his robes before, and he was always prepared for any accidents in class with a spell or, at times, even a potion.

 

That’s what Tom wanted to be: always prepared, for any possibility, because then you could never lose or be outsmarted.

 

The Professor gave the door a longing glance, which he obviously thought was discreet - and wasn’t his conversation interesting enough or something?!

 

“And what of me, Professor,” he asked, keeping his voice soft and velvety, “I’m a Slytherin, am I difficult for you to deal with?”  
  
Potter’s eyes snapped back to him, and he blinked.

“What? No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean - you’ve never given me any trouble-”  
  
Maybe he should start to.

 

“Did Slytherins when you were at school give you a lot of trouble then?” he asked innocently.

  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You’ve never given me any trouble would indicate a certain distaste for Slytherins, or that some specific ones have given you trouble.”  
  
Most Professor’s would have stared at him for several long seconds, or fumbled an ‘of course not, no.”  
  
“I’m a Gryffindor” Potter repeated. “Keep it quiet on the Headmaster’s push for house unity because this is a secret but, believe it or not, Gryffindor and Slytherins don’t always get on amazingly. Too much rivalry,” Potter mock whispered.

 

Had he mentioned that the Professor always seemed to manage to have an answer or quip in response to his own?

 

“Really?” he smirked back. “I hadn’t noticed. As Head Boy I am of course a most dutiful advocate of House Unity.”  
  
“Quite rightly too,” Potter returned. He opened his mouth to respond, but the Professor had been spotted again and suddenly everybody wanted some damn punch.

 

He really wished they were at Hogsmeade, so that there could be some awful attack he could prove himself in. If he was out of Hogwarts, he may even have set one up. Played the hero - the Professor seemed to like doing that. 

 

Didn’t change the fact that the man looked even closer to bolting and fleeing the party than he had been before. He suspected the Professor had been honest in his comment; he preferred Gryffindor parties with little pressure, that were about having fun and getting hammered as opposed to making connections and polite chit chat with people you didn’t actually care about.

 

This wasn’t a party, it was the birthplace of ambition and the graveyard of pleasure.

 

He had Malfoy cause a diversion, and quietly slipped out to follow.

  
“Professor!” he called after the man’s back, when they were in an empty corridor someway away.

 

Harry turned slightly to see him, brow furrowing.

 

“Shouldn’t you be at the party?” the professor asked.   
He strode closer to the man, coming to a stop in front of him. 

  
“I confess that it wasn’t really my idea of a fun time.”

Harry looked surprised at that, before he smoothed his expression.  
  
“I won’t speak ill of a colleague,” the man said, after a moment, turning to walk away again, and Tom easily fell into step next to him. “I need to finish marking some papers anyway. Speaking of, I wanted to talk to you about your defense thesis…”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
“A hypothetical exploration of the possibility of defending against the Unforgiveables?”  
  
“I found the topic held my interest. The Imperius Curse can be countered, and every spell has something which can reverse or lessen its effect, aside from those two.”  
  
“That’s a very ambitious topic.”  
  
“I believe I can handle myself, sir,” he returned. “For example, I’ve outlined all the non-moral similarities between the spells to find out why they would be categorised together, and they all affect the nerves or use the target’s own magic or body against them. The imperius takes over control of the mind, the cruciatus every nerve ending in the body to cause intense agony, and the Avada Kedavra, from my research, works by shutting down the key functions in one quick sweep, causing instant death. Too fast too cause noticeable damage, because it’s not damage, they simply switch off. Like clicking the power button.”  
  
Harry was starting to look interested now, riveted, and he reveled in that.   
Finally.

  
“Do you have any thoughts for your conclusion?”  
  
“Theoretically, if one can combat the Imperius Curse with one’s own will, they should be able to do the same with the other two. The killing curse is fuelled by the intent of the caster, and so can be countered by the will of the victim to survive and retain control of their own functions. The Cruciatus is a trick of the nerves, if one can counter the nerves, they can counter the Cruciatus. It’s simple, really.”  
  
“That’s brilliant. Bloody hell, don’t take my job I need a salary.”  
  
He felt the the praise swell smugly in his chest, and maybe that made him bolder.

  
“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it sir, at least not yet.” He had some bigger plans to complete, first. “I need something pretty to stare at whilst I focus my research efforts in class.”   
  
He suppressed a smirk as Professor started spluttering, eyes widening, that flush creeping to his cheeks.   
  
“Yes, well, erm-” he ran a hand through his hair. “Good luck on your thesis. If you can pull this off, you’ll be certain to get a top grade, and not to mention a gateway into many, er, prestigious professions - my office is that way-”  
  
“I’d love to join you, sir,” he murmured, with an innocent smile and a not so innocent gleam in his eyes. Harry swallowed, eyes darting around the corridor.   
  
“Mr Riddle - Tom - you, er, must realise such a comment is, um, inappropriate.”  
Seemed he was oblivious, but not so oblivious to not be able to insinuate his meaning from such a blunt comment - at least not in such quick succession of each other.

 

“Nobody’s going to here, and I won’t tell anyone, sir.”  
He took another step forward, the Professor a step back and it really was ludicrous that for all his skill as an educator and a duellist, such simple social interactions could fluster the other so.

  
“I-yes- that’s not really the point. And-I need to go. Like I said, lots of marking.”  
  
The man fled, and he couldn’t say Tom was disappointed.  
It had only just gone Christmas after all.

He hummed his way back to the Common Room.


End file.
